


I always had it wrong and giving up just felt so right

by comhfort



Category: Me - Fandom
Genre: Other, i literally didnt even spend more than 5min on this, me and my dumb feeling to want to overshare, plus i used u for this so, the poem you wrote made me want to write smthg, this is for u simmy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-01
Updated: 2017-06-01
Packaged: 2018-11-07 20:15:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,380
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11066328
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/comhfort/pseuds/comhfort
Summary: I talk about a dumb crush I've never felt (this is kinda about a friendship of mine that fell apart plus romantic nuances)





	I always had it wrong and giving up just felt so right

**Author's Note:**

  * For [goldskies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/goldskies/gifts).



I look at you, watch with silent eyes and a hoping breath, fervent, the way your mouth turns into the prettiest grin and I’m coy, bashful and end up passing my feelings for a paltry thing. I’m afraid it shows on my face, shows that I care too much. We talk a lot because I’m impulsive and therefore never content, I want everything I can get, no longer demanding your whole, I want all the bad feelings too, the suffocation, the heavy heart and nausea are fine with me as long as it’s you. You might not know me, because you tell me how much it matters that we, specifically us, are so close, that I tell you things I usually wouldn’t, not to anyone but you, never anyone, just you. Nonetheless I don’t share the important stuff, I could never share the important stuff because you pull all the bad strings in my mouth, you make me brave, and I’m incoherent and say too much, end up feeling bad and ignoring you, because now you know everything I’ve always wanted to tell you but even that’s never enough. I’m my worst self around your fragile hands and forever reminded over and over again of how much our friendship is worth to you, so I’m no longer hasty, I calculate sentences, the thought of your warmth no longer next to me, your cursory glances, dishevelled hair (it’s not even windy and you’re adorable and I Love You both in a friendly way and not at the same time) scares me, I want you to be boisterous, make your presence known. I make myself devoid of anything that might give away that I feel too much, and you comment on how strong I am, and I’m compelled to tell you it’s not like that please, please it could never be like that, but I gather my thoughts and smile, say a joke that always spills too much, you grow quiet but smile anyways, I’m sure the strong one is you.  
I often think it’d be simpler if I were a mole, living in some hole far away from the surface, miles between me and you, a whole world away from the mean sun, that always shines bright sometimes I swear it’s impossible to distinguish you two. But even inside my safe space you never leave my thoughts, and I laugh because the irony is that I’d have more chances of being with you as a mole than as your best friend. The darkness of the cave is daunting, and it echoes everywhere its’ clamorous sound, incessant, and I’m reminded of your phone calls, I don’t pick them up often afraid of how happy I am with so little, so I abstain myself from it. I try to make it seem as if I’m interested in someone from my class, you seem happy and share, spill all about the people you would date if they offered and I’m never mentioned so I jokingly tell you ‘how come I didn’t hear my name’ and you laugh, really loud until your eyes are crinkling and you look so amazingly out of reach I refuse to join you.  
It’s me from two years ago wishing I could stand next to you, make my presence known and me now, sad and sulking because you tell everyone about me but I keep you to myself, afraid of how fondly I’ll describe you, because you’re always so great and I know, will forever be aware, that I won’t be the only one there for you for too long. It’s me two years ago wishing I could reach the same level as you, talk to you as if we were lifelong friends, dreaming of the happiest days of my life yet to come, and me now, ignoring your gentle voice that always whispers my name, a voice commensurate with the gentle background noise. The prevailing feelings of sadness always comes whenever I compare myself with the ghosts of me I’ve come to meet. One of them is married, average happiness and energetic kids, my cheeks are too chubby but whomever I’m with kisses them all the same and it doesn’t make my heart beat fast but I’ll try to learn so it does somewhere in the future. The other one is studying, never once doubtful of their way, smiles and speaks too softly but its fine, university is stressful but often rewarding so I stay put. The last one has never spoken to you before, lives in ignorance of the feelings they can demonstrate but they can’t tell they’re missing, therefore they stay put, live life calmingly, not too steady but shines bright when other people do and is content with that much. All of them irritate me, forever oblivious to the fact that that’s the happier the current me will ever get, living through their fantasies, ignoring you and everyone around them as if it will make it any easier being next to you.  
Sometimes being buried alive feels like a gentle death, in one way or another, the suffocation comes from the weight of the dirt above you, confined and directed at my broad shoulders and big hands, it feels good to know what’s taking my breath away instead of it coming in waves, sometimes it’s not even you, it’s the girl next to you, so close but not as close as me, sometimes I think it would have been easier had I never learnt how your name looks nice pressed onto my skin.  
It’s me two years ago full of expectations of how I could handle not being with you as long as I was forever imbedded into your life, it’s me now not wanting to think of you because I no longer think I can. It’s me, from what feels like forever ago, glowing after you gave me your number, memorised it, made sure I kept it safe and me, the incompetent me, that can never keep their promises and gives it to some boy who tells me he likes you, is too shy to talk to you face to face so I gladly give it to him, wishing you could love anyone as much as me, even more if it’d be possible, your tears are becoming too frequent and I no longer know how to fix them, wonder if I ever could and arrive at the conclusion I’ve never fought hard to. Took everything as it came, running away instead of facing my preliminary fears, live forever in wonderment of valiant feelings, that I can no longer summon. If this is love then fuck it I don’t want it anymore, because it’s between me thinking we can’t be together and me knowing we can’t, so I stay put, never moving a muscle and watch in silence, when everything I’ve ever amounted some value to in my life crashes with my image of you and it feels like comparing the moon to the sun. It’s me feeling foreign where once I longed to be. I’m making me unhappy, shit I love you. I wish, with every ounce of my feelings and everything I could gather that I could just tell you, yeah you might not like me back but you would understand, it’s the feeling of growing apart when I promised myself I’d never let you go, and you don’t even notice. 

Because my happiest memories are intertwined with you and my stomach  
drops  
When I think of you and my  
Heart beats too fast when I remember  
How much I looked forward to seeing you every morning

I could never let go, I tried, lasted a good two months before you messaged me again, probably thought I needed some space, and I begged myself back into your life, linked the strings that keep me away from you with your feet and wished to never let go, pretended nothing had been wrong, you might have noticed but you’re too kind and I’m too awkward and this is me at my best, assuming your feelings and talking over mine.  
I don’t know how much more I can look ahead before I have to face that things might not be okay, I might not be okay. Fuck.


End file.
